


Taken By the Sky

by Taupefox59



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Patchin' each other up, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, domestic boys, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:43:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6724720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross comes home late one night, and Jim is there to patch him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken By the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know! Constructive Criticism always appreciated!
> 
> Title from the classic [Rhiannon ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=py3w5fttedA) by Fleetwood Mac.
> 
>  
> 
> [ NOW WITH ART!!!! ](http://withywindlesdaughter.tumblr.com/post/143772278738/for-taupefox59-and-the-amazing-taken-by-the-sky)

Jim never expected to find himself sharing a nest with anyone. Certainly no one as turbulent at Ross. Ross possessed something though, some magnetic charisma, from the fire in his eyes, to the scar on his face and the flash of his Corvid wings. Jim was still shocked at times that they’d managed to build any kind of a stable relationship out of the magnificent drama that had come from their courtship. Ross still didn’t alway shave a good reign on his anger, prone to harsh words and uncaring who got cut from his sharp tongue. It was the way that Ross dismissed people that stirred something in Jim’s soul.

Jim, who had been dismissed his entire life. He had fought hard to earn the the things that he had. Jim’s response to a challenge was to  _ win _ . He learned in defiance of the people who had said that he couldn't. The strongest influences in Jim’s life weren’t the ones who had supported him, but the people who had sneered at him, at his mother, and said he would never amount to much. Jim knew he was contrary and stubborn. Ross had slid in with cool eyes and cutting words, and Jim had been hooked.

At first it had been a rivalry, they had often taken to the skies, a flurry of feathers and fists as they flew and fought. Pride was a trait that they both shared, so defeat was never final. The harder that Ross pushed, the harder Jim would swing back.

It had become a game. The thrill of the fight, the thrill of the fight, gave way to something else, something deeper. Anger and defiance had given way to grudging respect, and it had all been shot through with pulsing veins of attraction, until one day, their fights hadn’t ended in mid-air fisticuffs, but instead something so similar to a courtship flight that they could no longer deny their mutual attraction.

They came together in fire. It had been fighting pushing and finally, the reality-shifting realization of meeting an  _ equal _ . Neither of them were willing to give up, neither of them were willing to give in, and it would up with the two of them in the air, time and time again. The would spit words at each other, stoke the fire until it was blazing, push until they broke. They came together in passion and fire and anger and heat, fighting, screaming,  _ pushing _ until someone broke.

The realization came when it was never just one of them.

Together, they were better. Together, they flew to heights they would have never dared on their own. Neither of them were willing to choose the easy path. Instead, they tangled together. Their fights went from shallow screaming matches on vapid matters and transformed into long-lasting debates, that never left the corner of the pub. It was the two of them, matching wits and sparring with words.  Slowly, their adversarial relationship became less about fighting and more about seeking approval. Over time they came to realize; it wasn’t about the fight, it was about the fulfillment. They stopped pushing each other, just to see how far they could push. It became something else entirely. They started pushing  _ themselves _ . Instead of drawn-out arguments, it became moments of introspection, listening. 

It became a fight to create what they could be instead of what they were.

From there, they’d fallen together. They’d chosen to nest in the country, giving them both an excuse to take long flights during the day. They built their cottage in a valley, and spent countless lazy morning surfing the thermals off the hills. No one ever expected them to work, the contrast of golden eagle and raven too great a disparity to overcome. For them, it served as a challenge. They were better together than they ever managed on their own.

  
  


They day had been ugly and wet. Cloudy and cold, thick fog obscuring any light that might have come from the sky, and any hope of warmth was carried away by the heavy damp that hung in the air. The rain faded with the sun, but left the ground sodden and saturated. The dark earth churned to mud at the slightest provocation.

Jim had gotten home first and immediately started a fire. It didn’t take much to warm their small house. Usually, Jim made a point to only preen outside, but the wet seemed to be sticking to his bones, seeping in through his skin. It clung to his feathers. He knew it was only in his head, but his down itched with it. He stripped out of his wet shirt and started to run his fingers through his wings, sighing with contented relief.

Jim liked to believe that he didn’t have too many airs, but he loved his wings. Strong and beautiful, with tawny feathers that gleamed gold and copper in the sunlight. Jim had taken to flight almost before he could walk. His skill at flight had gotten him out of  _ almost _ as much trouble as it got him into, though his smart mouth surely didn’t help his luck at all. It hadn’t been much of a surprise to his mother when he’d left their small, coastal town to move inward. She’d always said that he was too much of an eagle not to fly. 

He wasn’t waiting for Ross to arrive. Neither of them kept to any sort of schedule, and they had declared themselves far too practical to wait for dinner until they’d both come home. With the fire crackling and food in hand, Jim sat on the couch. The heat spread easily through the room, and Jim stretched his wings out, relishing the warmth as it drew the last of the damp from his feathers. Dinner was a bowl of reheated leftovers, but it warm and filling and required no energy to make, which suited Jim perfectly.

He’d nearly worked himself into a doze when the door slammed open. Sopping wet, Ross banged through the door, and stomped into the room. Jim frowned and stood. Ross radiated anger and seemed to favouring his left side. It had been a long while since either of them had gotten into a proper scrap, but it did still happen from time to time.

‘The fuck happened?’ Jim said, walking forward.

‘Don’t fucking touch me.’ Ross snapped, his wings flaring out instinctively. He hissed at the action, going pale from pain.

It took a moment for Jim to find the wound. The glossy black of Ross’s feathers easily hid the signs of blood.

‘Ross. What happened?’

‘Nothing.’ He scowled and pulled his wings in defensively.

‘I won’t help you if you don’t want me to.’

‘I don’t want you to.’ Ross parroted back, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm.

Jim stared, but Ross didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Fine. I’ll leave you to it then.’ Jim spun and walked back towards the fire. ‘If you bleed on anything I’ll be very upset.’

If Ross replied, Jim didn’t hear it. He sat by the fire, but could find no peace this time. Tension and anxiety had sunk into his muscles, and he couldn’t get comfortable. The fire burned, crackling and popping as it had before. The only other noise came from the kitchen, where Ross had gone to clean himself up. Every time Jim had nearly relaxed another pained cry would echo through the nest. 

When Ross clearly cut himself off from screaming, Jim had finally had enough.

Ross was settled at the table, contorted around his left wing. Raven feathers littered the floor from where Ross had apparently been  _ pulling them out _ to get to his injury.

Jim moved without thinking, placing a hand on Ross’s bare shoulder and leaning over to take a better look at his wing.

Ross went tense at the touch. ‘Jim.’

‘Let me help.’

‘Don’t - I-’

‘You don’t like other people touching your wings.’

‘ _ Anyone _ .’ Ross stated, some kind of desperation in his voice.

‘It’s just me.’ Jim said.

Ross sat in silence for a long while, and Jim didn’t move.

‘I can’t- I can’t reach it very well.’ Ross finally said, voice quiet.

‘It’s okay.’ Jim said, dropping a kiss to Ross’s dark, curly hair. ‘I’ll go as slow as you need me to.’ He stayed where he was though, keeping his hands on Ross’s skin, making sure not to touch feather until Ross had given permission.

Ross sat silently, stiff beneath Jim’s fingers, caught in his own mind. ‘It’s near - I got shot. There’s a scar.’

Understanding flooded through Jim. ‘Do you want to talk me through it?’

‘I can’t reach it.’

‘Okay.’

Ross closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slow. Ross didn’t talk much about his time in the war. Especially in the light. Slowly, Ross started to open up more, but only ever at night, in the warm, safe space of their bed. Without the protection of blankets and shadows, with bloody feathers on the floor, Jim understood.

Ross spoke quietly, but he still sounded loud in the silence of the room. ‘Yeah. Yes. Just talk to me. You’ll...keep me here.’

‘Of course.’ Jim said, moving his hand gently along Ross’s wing. ‘Did I ever tell you about the first time I got arrested? I had just figured out that if I caught a draft off the coast, I could glide into this old abandoned factory building…’

**Author's Note:**

> This could become something more, but I can't promise anything for this one. If you want to come chat to me about anything, come pop by at [my tumblr!](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/)


End file.
